Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: A series of one-shots/drabbles for this year's appreciation week!
1. Day 1: A Study in the Final Problem

"So, bad day was it?" Sherlock laughed nervously, tugging at his coat. It was two in the morning, and by the look of her face, the petite woman standing in the doorway was not amused.

"Possibly the worst day of my life; what do you think?" Molly huffed. After Mycroft's hurried phone call about how none of the earlier events were any fault of Sherlock's, she had told herself she'd be cordial, but for some reason, the sight of him made her defensive.

"It wasn't a picnic for me either," he muttered, running a hand through his matted curls. "I very well could've watched you die tonight."

"So, you came here to say you had a worse time of it?" she fired back. "I'm the one who could've died."

"God, Molly, no," he replied in a panic. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It's just—how do I explain this? It shouldn't be this hard. Molly, yes, you're the one who could've died, but had I watched it happen, completely helpless to save you…it would have killed me."

"You really care about me that much?" her voice was softer now, as was her face.

"Heart strings can snap when faced with deep emotional trauma; I'm surprised I'm still alive, all things considered. But your death—the life being taken from the woman I—"

"The woman you what, Sherlock?" Molly moved closer to him, the light rain now hitting her as well. "Tell me."

"The woman I am deeply in love with. Molly, I—mmph!" She was snogging him. Her lips on his felt quite remarkable, as if his heart was being awakened; brought back to life just from her love. It was simultaneously soft and firm—a contradiction that shouldn't exist, but is being proven in this very moment. He held her close, never wanting to let go, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and oh God, it was the most exhilarating feeling.

"Sherlock," she half-whispered as he pressed kisses from her jaw to her neck. "Darling, as much as I"—she struggled to keep her breathing steady—"enjoy this, we should finish this inside."

"Finish?" he asked, that wonderfully crooked smile shone brightly in the dark. "Molly Hooper, I'm just getting started." He lifted her up in his arms, carrying her over the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him. It was already past two in the morning; there was no chance of sleep tonight.


	2. Day 2: Apologies

**This one takes place during and after The Empty Hearse, but Tom doesn't exist here lol.**

His sights were set on the man attempting to charm his way into his date's pants. There was absolutely no way that Sherlock Holmes would allow it to go any further. Molly Hooper deserved better than that. If he was being honest, she deserved better than him as well, but he liked to think he was the better choice. Acting as their waiter, though he had already pulled this on John, he brought their drinks over, 'accidentally' spilling them on her date.

A squeal of surprise escaped Molly's mouth, a laugh threatening to sound until her eyes landed on their so-called waiter. "Sherlock." It was spoken with annoyance. "What exactly is the matter with you!?" Molly grabbed his arm, leading him out of the restaurant, but Sherlock wasn't having any of it. He shrugged her off.

"What's the matter with me?" he scoffed. "You're the one on a date with another man when you and I just had one last week!"

Molly shook her head in confusion. "I was your assistant on a day of crime solving. How was that a date?"

"I kissed you!" Sherlock argued.

"On the cheek!" Molly retorted, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

"And I asked you to get some chips with me," he continued. "It would have been successful had John not been put in danger. It was a date, Molly!"

"Then you should've been clear about your intentions, and had the bloody courage to ask me out before someone else did!" she clenched her hands into fists at her side, her face flushed with anger. She walked a few steps back, and then stepped closer than she was before, right in front of him. "Besides, what makes you think I would've said yes? I wouldn't date you if you were the last man on earth!" Molly watched his face fall, the hurt flashing on his face tore at her heart.

"Perhaps I was wrong then." Sherlock's face became stoic, his demeanor cold once more.

"Sherlock, I—" Molly felt her heart break as he dismissed her with a wave, walking off into the night. He didn't even look back. She supposed she didn't deserve anything more than that. Sherlock put his heart out on the line for the very first time, and she allowed her pride to get the best of her. Could he ever forgive her? She'd have to wait and see.

* * *

Sherlock berated himself for even thinking that after two years away, Molly would still be interested. She moved on, and he should respect that. No, he hadn't been entirely clear that it was a date, but in his defense, he thought it was fairly obvious. She was an observant woman, so either it was an off day, or she didn't believe he was capable of human emotion.

After all was taken care of with Moran's bomb, Sherlock took a cab home. He hardly slept or ate throughout the whole ordeal, and though there was barely a morsel of anything left, he was looking forward to eating whatever he had on hand. Molly's words kept echoing in his mind, tearing his heart at the seams.

Upon opening the door to his flat, he noticed it had been tidied, and the smell of a home cooked meal wafted toward his nose. It was shepherd's pie, one of his favourite dishes. Only three people knew this; his mother, Mrs. Hudson, and—

"Molly." His tone conveyed surprise at her presence.

"Sherlock, I didn't mean what I said. I regretted it the moment it slipped out. I once told you that you always say such horrible things, but I said something just as awful to you, and"—she took a deep breath—"I am so sorry. Forgive me?" She held her hands behind her back, nervously waiting for his reply.

"Already forgiven the moment it happened," he replied nonchalantly. "I should apologise for my behaviour that night. It was most immature, and I'm sorry I angered you; also for my past rudeness and manipulations. I should have never treated you like that. It was a crime in itself to hurt you. I've been a bit of a git since you've known me."

Molly laughed in agreement. "I never stopped loving you, Sherlock Holmes. And I never will."

"You deserve better than me." He cast his eyes downward, unaware of Molly's approach. She caressed his cheek with her hand, keeping the other behind her back. Tilting his face so their eyes locked, she shook the very foundation of what he believed to be true.

"You always say such horrible things about yourself, and this time, I won't let you. Don't you ever talk like that again. You do deserve me. We deserve the best version of yourself. Not just me, but you too. I wish you'd be kinder for your own sake." Molly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a moment before her lips met his in a gentle kiss. As their lips parted, she whispered, "Now open your gift."

"Gift?" Sherlock questioned, seeing her once hidden hand out in view, holding the very gift she had brought for him that fateful Christmas. He slowly reached out for it, and unwrapped it only to reveal a box.

"Go on," she encouraged. "Open it." And so he did. It was a leather portfolio, his initials engraved in gold on the bottom right. Inside, it was already stocked with a notepad, pens, a small magnifying glass, and a small note sticking out from the folder compartment that read '_for my someone special._' "I thought it would be handy for you to have whilst you're on cases."

"I love it, thank you, Molly." He smiled then, lost in the deep brown eyes of his loving Molly. "Perhaps we should eat before it gets cold?"

"Agreed…oh, and Sherlock? This is most definitely a date."


	3. Day 3: A New Era

"Are you okay? And don't just say you are." A deep baritone voice she hadn't heard in two months spoke.

Molly looked up from the microscope, locking eyes with the consulting detective, recognizing the very words she once said to him a few years back. "Me? I'm fine," she lied. "You're the one who's been off the grid for two months."

Sherlock shifted his weight from one foot to another. "What did Mycroft tell you?"

"You have a sister you only recently remembered, and she's the psychopath who set up that phone call. I was shown a photo of her, immediately recognizing her as Meena." Molly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's not fun finding out that one of your best friends was never who they said they were."

"I am sorry, Molly." Sherlock's tone conveyed genuine sincerity.

"S'not your fault." She wiped a stray tear from her face, not wanting to cry in front of him. "I'm not cross with you, if that's why you were worried about seeing me."

"I felt you needed the space. Thank you for not being angry, though; God knows I don't deserve your kindness." This caused Molly to take a closer look at the state he was in. Despite his attempt to appear put-together, he looked haggard. His curls were unruly, obviously from running his hands through several times. There were dark circles underneath his eyes from a lack of sleep; more so than usual. _Goodness_, she thought, _I'm beginning to think like him_.

He waited for her to say something—anything—as she approached him, only to be surprised by the warm embrace she gave him. And, much to Molly's surprise, he returned her affections.

"It's okay to not be okay," he told her, his voice all choked up.

"I'm okay now," she assured him.

"So am I," he admitted, holding her tighter, closer. He never wanted to let her go. Did she want him to stay? Or did she want nothing more to do with him? Sherlock hadn't realised how deeply he had fallen for her until he said the words aloud. _I love you._ The first utterance was a struggle, as it was for her, but the second? Oh, the second time was an epiphany. Flashes of moments with his sweet-natured pathologist had raced through his mind. "Can I keep you?" Sherlock's voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly laughed softly, pulling away to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere, love." And that was all it took to give him the courage to press his lips to hers hungrily; a kiss so firm, but still very gentle. God, how he loved her. The flood of emotions he kept at bay when it came to her broke through the dam, causing Sherlock to give everything he had into their first kiss.

He groaned with delight as her fingers gently tugged on his curls, pressing her body so close against his, there was no space left between them. She loved the feeling of him holding her, his hands caressing her in all the right places. He kissed her as if she were his only source of oxygen. Sherlock felt as if she was bringing him back to life in every way, mending his mental and emotional state.

"Well it's about bloody time," Greg announced his presence, interrupting them. "I didn't think you'd ever get up the courage."

"Is this important, Graham? Because I have more pressing matters to attend to." Sherlock was so annoyed that his moment with Molly had been short-lived, he purposefully used the wrong name.

"I know you haven't taken any cases as of late, but if you're feeling up to it, I believe you'll find this one to at least be a nine." Greg seemed so confident about this one.

Molly watched as Sherlock scanned the casefile, a smile slowly appearing on his face. "I'll take it!"

"Back to your old self, then?" she asked, happy to see him glowing with excitement again.

"I'll never go back to my old self, Molly. I don't want to be that man anymore. I want to be a better one." As he left with Lestrade, he flashed a genuinely happy smile toward her, leaving Molly with real hope. It was the beginning of a new era.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is definitely my favorite one I've written so far. I hope it instilled a feeling of hope in all of you too.


	4. Day 4: Once More Unto the Breach

_If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?_ The words reverberated in Sherlock's head as he attempted to sleep. It had been seven months since he left to take down Moriarty's network. It wasn't unusual for his thoughts to circle back to Molly Hooper, especially when he felt the need for comfort. He missed her something fierce, feeling a dull ache where the heart nobody believed he had resided. _It's better this way_. It was a mantra he told himself often to keep his mind focused on his mission.

On nights like these, when he had the opportunity, Sherlock chose to lose himself in his mind palace. Molly's room in his mind continued to grow even now. He was afraid of forgetting the slightest detail about her. God, he wished she were really here, but losing himself in his imaginings would have to be sufficient for now.

_In his mind palace, he was in her flat—specifically, the sitting room_. _It wasn't often that he used her place as a bolthole, but when he did, they watched a range of films, crap telly, and murder documentaries. She usually ate ice cream during these nights, whilst he would hardly ever eat. The one exception was the night she decided to make ginger nuts. They were his absolute favourite, and it pleased her to know that the way she baked them tasted just like his mum's._

_"You're quiet tonight." Molly's voice, soft and inviting, sounded from beside him. She was dressed in a simple bubblegum pink cable-knit jumper, and a pair of old jeans. Her feet were bare, her nails painted in a turquoise shade._

_"I need you so much right now, Molly." It was something he could only admit in his fantasies. If he were to ever admit such things in real life, his enemies would find her as his ultimate weakness. She embraced him, fingers tangled in his curls in an attempt to soothe him. Sherlock breathed in deeply, hoping to fill his senses with her natural scent, but nothing came to him. He pulled away in a panic, obviously distraught._

_"What's the matter, my love?" her voice was filled with the concern of someone more than just a friend._

_"It's not real." He buried his head in his hands._

_"Of course it's not." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "But you want it to be."_

_"I've forgotten the scent of you. I'm losing grip on the small details that make you feel real to me." Sherlock shrugged her off. "It's not the same anymore. There's nothing to keep me going by the end of this."_

_"Yes, there is. Don't you dare talk like that, Sherlock Holmes!" Now he'd done it. He angered her, and there was no escaping her rant. At least he'd feel something other than loneliness. "Keep coming back when you need comfort, but you need to fight to get your life back. If you succeed, you'll see me—the real me—again. We'll go for chips sometime."_

_"Chips…yes, we could do that. I know a place on Marylebone Road I could take you. I think you—she'd love it." Sherlock's usual disposition returned, a look of determination on his face. "I could never say this before to the real you, but maybe I could practice it with you. Molly, I have found—quite recently—that I care for you deeply; much more than that of a friend. I promise when I return, I'll take you out with me."_

_"Sherlock Holmes style?" she asked, teasingly._

_"Is there any other way?" he smiled back at her. "Once more unto the breach."_


	5. Day 5: The Heart Wants What it Wants

He was a bloody idiot! Sherlock Holmes paced his sitting room, unable to wrap his head around the newest piece of information he observed about Molly. _Engaged_. In all the years he's known her, Sherlock never imagined in his wildest dreams that his pathologist would be engaged to be married to somebody…unless that somebody was him. In all the times he told people he was married to his work, he had never once said that to Molly.

For once Mycroft was right. It was ignorant of him to think his friends' lives would just be on pause whilst he was gone. The only thing, though, was that Molly had known he wasn't dead. But, then again, this thought brought up the last words he said to her before he left to the forefront of his mind.

_"Grieve as if I am dead. Live your life, Molly Hooper. Do not give me any more of your life than I have already taken."_

He should've been happy that she listened; that she moved on. But, the truth was that he was heartbroken. He had missed her so deeply that a physical aching plagued him where his heart resided. He wasn't a man who was easily moved, but that didn't mean he didn't feel at all. If he were to ever admit it, his brother—and his enemies—would never let him live it down without consequences.

_"But you can't do this again, can you?"_

He wanted to continue solving crimes with her. She brought a little more light to his escapades. That wasn't to say he didn't want John to come back, but once married, he'd be less apt to go along with him. Molly wasn't a second choice by any means; only a new addition. But now, she, too, was engaged. He hadn't met the chap yet, but Sherlock highly doubted her fiancé would approve of her running around London, putting herself in danger, with the man she used to fancy. Yes, that would go over _so_ well.

Would she have waited for him if he had asked? It was likely, but it would have been unfair to her. At the time, he hadn't a clue how long it'd take to finish his mission. _If only I hadn't been such an arrogant arse to her_, he thought.

* * *

Molly paced around her flat, unable to get that near-perfect day with Sherlock out of her mind. She was so sure he was going to kiss her lips in that moment. Instead, he settled for her cheek, but right above the corner of her mouth. _So close_. Her heart had raced, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Not once had she felt that way with Tom; not even in the honeymoon stage of their relationship.

When Tom would kiss her, it was nice, but it wasn't all-consuming. It never was. Where was the fire? The passion? Molly had seen more fire in Sherlock's eyes than she ever felt with Tom. If he hadn't come back when he did, she'd be married to a man she wasn't in love with. Molly loved Tom, truly, but it wasn't until Sherlock Holmes came crashing back into her life that she realized her heart still belonged to the broody consulting detective with the ocean blue eyes she could drown herself in.

Tom said he would be by later, but Molly couldn't wait any longer. She slid off the ring, and scribbled a note, leaving it on the kitchen counter for him to find. She just hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

Before heading to Baker Street, Molly had made a quick stop at the chip shoppe on Marylebone Road that Sherlock had mentioned to her. When she brought him up by name to the owner, he did indeed give extra portions to both orders. She thanked him on the way out, and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally arrived at 221B.

"Molly, is that you dear?" Mrs. Hudson called out.

"Yes, is Sherlock home by any chance?" she asked, hoping he hadn't gone out for the night.

"He's with Mycroft at the moment; something about he and John having stopped a terrorist attack."

Molly's eyebrows rose in shock. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, yes, quite alright, my dear. No need to worry." With a smile, Mrs. Hudson headed back inside her flat without another word. Molly sat at the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to intrude in his flat whilst he wasn't there. _Sod it all, _she thought, climbing up the stairs. If he could scare the bejeezus out of her by waiting for her in her own flat, why couldn't she do the same? Besides, he had a terrible habit of leaving the door unlocked. Hell, he even once had tea with Moriarty here; surely he wouldn't be annoyed by her presence.

She hadn't needed to wait long. Less than 15 minutes went by when she heard him enter the flat. "Okay, Molly, deep breath; you can do this," she told herself quietly, sitting at the small kitchen table.

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened as a familiar, comforting scent tingled his senses; honeysuckle, hibiscus, vanilla, amber, and sandalwood. _Molly_.

"Molly, are you alright?"

"I love you."

They spoke in unison. It took a moment for Sherlock to process the words that came from her mouth.

"Sherlock?" Molly was beginning to think this had been a bad idea. "Please say something, or I'll surely die from the embarrassment." That seemed to snap him out of his reverie.

"I won't allow your death, even by embarrassment." He paused a moment to get his thoughts together. "You brought chips from—"

"Marylebone Road, yes," Molly finished. "I am so happy that you came back when you did. If you hadn't, I might have been stuck in a loveless marriage, because it took your return to make me realise that I was only settling."

"You…love me?" he was surprised at such a confession.

"Deeply," Molly admitted. "You may be a git at times, and we'll probably bicker about the tiniest things, but you're also quite funny, clever, and, dare I say it, loving. I've always seen the heart that you hide so well, but not once were you successful in hiding it from me. You were gonna snog me, weren't you?"

"Yes, but out of respect for your engagement—which I see is no longer an issue now—I changed my mind at the last moment," Sherlock confessed, stepping closer to her. "And damn it all, Molly, I love you very much. I wanted to snog you then, and I want to snog you now." He stood so close, she felt she couldn't breathe properly.

Molly felt like the floor dropped out from beneath her, but she managed to keep her cool. "Then what are you waiting for?" It came out huskier than she intended, but dear God above, did it work to her advantage. Sherlock pulled her close, capturing her lips with his in a frenzy of passion. A chill ran through her at the sound that escaped him as she tugged on his curls. Her back was now pressed up against the wall—when did he have time to turn her around?

"I missed you," he spoke softly, nearly out of breath. He trailed his lips across her jaw, and down her neck, making sure to not ignore the spot behind her ear. Continuing his path, he lingered at her pulse point, reveling in the sounds she made as he kissed her.

Molly felt as though she might melt into a puddle right there. Her breathing began to even as he lifted his head to meet her eyes, and pressed one last kiss to the tip of her nose. "I should've waited for you."

"No," he disagreed. "You did the right thing in moving on."

"Oh?" Molly questioned.

"At least now you know for a fact where you belong," he smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. "With me."

"Always with you, my love."


	6. Day 6: Say Yes!

_Don't look at her_, Sherlock thought. _Stay focused on your phone._ It probably wasn't the best thing for him to do, as he was at his—and Molly's—goddaughter's christening. Oh dear Lord, they were godparents…together. It felt so domestic, but Sherlock would be lying if he denied ever fantasizing what a life spent with Molly would be like. It wasn't too hard for him to imagine, as he had stayed with her on multiple occasions. He was succeeding in his endeavor until he heard Mary say their daughter's name.

"Rosamund?" Frowning, he looked up briefly.

"Means '_rose of the world_.' Rosie for short," Molly spoke quietly. Sherlock, out of habit, threw a glance towards her. _Bad mistake, abort, abort! _She looked so put together with the dress, the hair scarf, everything. She looked so beautiful—her soft, pink-lipped smile, her rosy cheeks. He wanted to take her hair down and run his fingers through it whilst thoroughly kissing her. Before his fantasies became out of hand, he refocused on his mobile, determined to keep his head on straight.

"Didn't you get John's text?" she asked him, unwilling to let it go.

Without looking up, Sherlock replied, "No. I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins, '_hi_.'" _Except for yours_, he thought.

Molly looked up toward the ceiling as if she were praying for answers as to why he was so callous. "I've no idea why people think you're incapable of human emotion." She felt hurt, considering she always started her texts with '_hi_' when she contacted him.

He never texted her back unless he needed something, which he now knew was a bit not good, but Sherlock never knew what to say to her. If he did speak to her, everything would come out all wrong, i.e. the Baker Street Christmas party. The one time he got it right was the day he took her out crime solving, planning to go out for chips afterwards. It would've been perfect…until the ring on her finger had put a stop to his confession of romantic notions. What exactly was stopping him from re-enacting his plan now? Nothing but himself. He was gonna swallow his damn pride, and tell her already.

Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat, signaling the two to stop squawking. "Sorry," Molly whispered. She then nodded her head towards Sherlock's hands, and told him, "phone." Much to her surprise, he listened—well, somewhat. She could still hear him typing on it from behind his back.

"And now, godparents, are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?" The Vicar asked.

"We are," Molly and Mrs. Hudson spoke in unison. Annoyed, Molly looked towards Sherlock, elbowing him to get his attention, causing a slip up on his phone.

_Sorry, I didn't catch that._

If looks could kill, Mary's eyes narrowed into a death stare so intense, Sherlock could've dropped to the floor in that moment.

_ Please, repeat the question_.

Molly had to chide herself for the giggle she almost let out. _Not amusing in any way. In no way was that funny._ Truth be told, she couldn't wait to get out of there. _Fresh air might do me some good_, she thought, exiting the church. Soon they'd be gathering again at the Watsons' for a luncheon in celebration. She could hear John and Mary speaking to Sherlock as they exited.

"You're coming to luncheon, Sherlock," Mary insisted.

"Nooope," he replied.

"C'mon, Sherlock, there'll be cake," John attempted to bribe him.

"It'll take more than cake this time."

"Molly! She'll be there. And she baked your favorite; ginger nuts." Mary knew she had him now.

_Why would he care if I'm there? He'll never go for it._

"Fine," he conceded. Molly was shocked, to say the least. What was he up to?

* * *

Luncheon with Sherlock at the Watsons' did not go at all the way she expected. He was actually being courteous, and conversing with everyone. Molly remained quiet most of the time, not from lack of interest in conversation, but because she felt a bit tense. She lot herself in her thoughts, not even realising that Sherlock was speaking to her.

"I'm worried about you, Molly, you seem very stressed." He actually looked concerned.

"Well, I'm not," she shot back.

"Hmm, defensive answer, so therefore, you must not want me to know that you are, in fact, stressed. Interesting." Sherlock sat back against his chair in thought. "Have you considered a vacation?"

"What's your angle?" Molly asked.

"No angle; I was just making a suggestion. My parents had a trip booked to Scotland in April, but due to an extended family matter in America—another wedding—they've asked if either I or Mycroft would take the trip in their stead." Sherlock flashed a gleaming smile at her. Ted and Stella conversed with Mrs. Hudson, but Molly could tell that John and Mary had become quiet, watching the scene unfold before them.

"And, you're offering it to me?" Molly questioned in bewilderment. Who was this man, and what had he done with Sherlock Holmes?

"Well, there are two tickets, so I thought we could go together," he explained. Was he mad? A trip meant for his parents meant that there was only one hotel room, and— "Of course, there's the matter that there's only one bed in the room, but don't let that frighten you." Was he flirting with her?

Just then, John choked on his tea, unable to believe what he heard come out of Sherlock's mouth. Molly's jaw dropped, and Mary smiled approvingly. The others had also quieted down, wanting to hear how this conversation would end.

"I—" Molly was overwhelmed.

"Say yes," Mary encouraged her.

"Fine, yes," she finally answered, finding that she was quite happy with the arrangement.

"Brilliant," he replied, beaming at her. What was with him?

* * *

Molly Hooper found out the answer to that question only a month later. He loved her; truly, deeply, madly. And she loved him too. It was a horrifying way to reach the point of no return, but neither had ever been happier. Their trip to Scotland was to be more enjoyable, having already been together for a couple of months now. Time seemed to be healing their wounds from the back-to-back tragedies they faced. Losing Mary still hurt like hell, but Sherlock strove to make her proud; spending the currency she had placed on his life in a way she'd be proud of.

Upon arriving at the quaint bed and breakfast, the receptionist handed them an envelope with instructions it was not to be opened until they reached their room.

"Well, go on, open it," Molly smiled encouragingly. "What does it say?" Sherlock chuckled at her enthusiasm, opening the envelope. It was a small scrap of paper, but the handwriting was undeniably familiar. She watched his face turn from shocked to relieved in the span of three seconds. "Sherlock?"

"It only says one thing; '_Aren't you glad I encouraged her to say yes to the trip?_'"

"Mary." Molly's heart ached.

"Look at the date it was written." Sherlock gave Molly the paper to inspect.

"Just two days ago. Sherlock, she's alive."

"Yes, and I have a feeling we'll be seeing her very soon."

* * *

**Author's Note:** How's that for a twist?


	7. Day 7: Where's the Crime?

"Molly, I need you to come to Belair House on Gallery Road," Sherlock told her over the phone. Excitable voices in the background had him shushing them with his hand whilst he was on the line.

"I'm kinda in the middle of something, Sherlock, can't this wait?" Molly was not, in fact, in the middle of anything. She was lounging on her sofa, watching crap telly. It had been four months since the phone call, and they'd only just begun to go back to their usual ways, aside from the fact Sherlock was more…well, attentive. At least with her, he was.

"It's very important—I can't say why, but I promise you it is," he assured her, mentally slapping himself for using the same words from four months ago. "Molly, what I mean to say is—" he stopped short, pausing for the correct thing to say—"I need you here. I quite literally can't do this without you."

"I suppose the case is a ten then?" she asked, getting up, and slipping on her flats.

"May even be an eleven," he said softly. The unusual tone made her suspicious, but of what, she hadn't a clue.

"Alright, I'm on my way." Heading out the door, Molly hoped this wouldn't be an utter waste of her time.

* * *

Molly gave the cab driver the full address Sherlock had given her, and he even offered to pay for the trip there, as it was a bit far. Who was she to argue? When the cab pulled up to her destination, she saw the beautiful Georgian manor come into view. Though located in the city, it gave the feel of being in the countryside. _What crime could've possibly been committed here?_ She wondered.

"Ah, Miss Hooper, please, follow me," Mycroft Holmes had appeared outside to greet her, and handed the cab driver the money. He was dressed to the nines as if a very important event was in place here before all hell broke loose. Upon entering the manor, Molly found the room filled with the small, but wonderful group of mutual friends that she and Sherlock shared. His parents were there as well, which confused her all the more.

"I don't understand." Molly's breathing was uneven. "There's no crime?"

"Darling," Sherlock began, "the only crime committed was that I hadn't come to my senses sooner." Darling? What? "We've wasted so much time already, and I swear to you, Molly Hooper, that I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll have me?" With that, he knelt down on one knee, revealing a beautiful, vintage rose gold engagement ring. "If you say yes, I have it all set for us to get married today."

"This is…this is…" she broke down into tears, overwhelmed by it all.

"Now, see what you've done," Mrs. Holmes scolded him. "You've gone and upset the poor dear."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Holmes, thank you, I just—isn't this a bit fast?" she asked.

"Molly," Sherlock chuckled, "I believe we've already gone the slow route. This is me attempting to make up for lost time. You know I love you. I told you that I meant it, and though you said you couldn't believe it to be true, this was the only way. You're killing me, darling."

"I didn't even bring a dress," she laughed. This was crazy.

"Oh, not to worry," Mary smiled. "I may have secretly borrowed one from your closet."

Sherlock, still on his knee, looked as if he was losing his confidence with each beat of her heart.

"Yes!" she shouted. "Of course I'll marry you, you sneaky bugger!" It took a moment for her answer to process in his mind, but he then jumped up and picked her up in his arms, twirling her around. The sound of her laughter was music to his ears.

"Okay, I need to help our bride get ready," Mary told Sherlock, shooing him away. "Crazy how your first real kiss is going to be the one that seals your marriage."

* * *

The dress that Mary took from her closet was a modest, white spring dress with a lace overlay. It was simple, but oh so lovely, and complimented her petite frame. Needless to say, when she walked down the aisle, with Greg on her arm to give her away, Sherlock's smile was the brightest she'd ever seen. Mary had done a nice job sweeping her hair up into a chignon bun, and only applying eyeliner to make her eyes pop. The white heels she wore were also 'secretly borrowed' from her closet.

They said their vows, straight from the heart, and I do's, leading them to the reception. Their first dance was to a violin composition he had created for her. When, after a couple of hours, it eventually became too much, making it hard to breathe, Molly headed toward the terrace to get some fresh air. The inky black sky was full of stars, sparkling in the distance.

"Mrs. Holmes, are you alright?" Sherlock's baritone reverberated through her.

"Oh, wow," she breathed. "That'll take some getting used to. I just needed some air is all."

"I am sorry for overwhelming you," he told her. "When I realised you wouldn't believe me when I told you I loved you, I knew I'd just have to show you."

"No need to apologise," she assured him. "This has been the best day of my life."

Sherlock took her in his arms, and kissed her lips softly. "How about we sneak away to our room to have the best night of our lives?" His voice had gone deeper, his tone conveying his meaning quite clearly. So clearly, in fact, heat was already beginning to pool in her abdomen.

"Let's go then!" she spoke with enthusiasm, proud of the chuckle she elicited from him. She was sure they wouldn't be missed. Mary would figure it out, and keep everyone distracted. And, oh yes! It was delightful night indeed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** okay, I was too lazy to write out the entire wedding, but I've written so many Sherlolly weddings in the past-in great detail, may I add-I just got easily burned out on it. I hope y'all enjoyed this anyways! And thank you so much for reading all of my stories!


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